Mending
by danniellecj
Summary: Joy, warm as the joy that shipwrecked sailors feel when they catch sight of land, for Finnick it feels like dragging an anchor tied to his back. [AU/Post Mockingjay]


**AN: This has long been on my mind, and I wanted to explore this idea and coupled with a tedious and depressing semester, it was a worthwhile amount to finish it as I wanted it too. Inspired from Homer's "the Odyssey", thank you so much for the continuous support! All the loves for you.**

* * *

At first there's physical pain coupled with a tremendous amount of strained muscles and unmovable bones. Though he knows he can't move about, he can feel himself moving or at least his body is and he peeks a bit as someone places an oxygen mask on his mouth, and shouts for help, he can feel something dripping down on the floor and at first he thinks it's the mud he had brought in, but a huge pressure pinpoints on his side and a blinding pain surprises him and no, that's not mud. That's his blood and he's dying.

White coated people rush out to him and the sharp smell of medication and blood rouses him from his unconsciousness from time to time and a varied words coming in and out ranging from "stable" to "miracles" and "survivor".

These confuse him in the haze of it all, so he keeps his eyes closed and his mind floating about, trying to remember the events pushing him down with another pulse of morphling running though his veins.

* * *

It was a miracle.

Annie thinks of this as she stares at the man on the bed. He looks so pale and beaten. Thick wraps of bandages cover his neck his legs and even though the blanket cover most of his body, she can tell there's more of it wrapped underneath.

She takes measured steps towards him and she can see his mouth slightly open, and his chest slowly moving indicating that's he still holding on.

Such difficult passages she had taken months before.

She had kept thinking of different ways of moving on even though she knew it wasn't quite possible at the moment. The dreadful news of the fires that ate him up and the rest of the squad (as she was originally told) felt like a dose of poison directed in her heart. She felt like she couldn't breathe during those times and it felt like she herself was buried underneath the rubble.

But when the sickness slowly passed and the doctors in Thirteen informed her of her condition, soft spoken joy abridged her and slowly she breathed, not for her sake but for the life depending on it.

She made herself busy, distracted herself of the awaiting blue skies and warm sand out near the ocean. But from time to time, in the empty night the hollow space besides her choked her with misery at the knowledge of the one thing he can never see again. She'd disappear into a makeshift reality and in there she could bewail out her sorrows and drown in her tears before coming back with a tear stained pillow and her hand desperately searching for him through the sheets. It was a tedious ordeal but she adapted in time. The war ended and everyone found freedom they've all longed for, she would have too but when someone called out and mentioned of his body found unconscious outside the outskirts of the Capitol , she felt like drowning.

With the help of Johanna, the two of them manage to arrive at the hospital and in between anxious thoughts about seeing her husband; the doctor took his time to explain the condition on how he was found.

"He's badly injured. Broken ribs and a few deep wounds on the side but he'll be alright. He's been moved from critical to stable. Originally we didn't even know if he'd survive, though I guess we'd have to thank his physical state for that." The doctor eagerly explains.

Despite the positive remarks about his condition, Annie couldn't shake whatever feeling she has that there is more damaged done on him. Her husband who had spent years enduring a tremendous amount of damage inside, she would know.

She takes a seat beside him and places a hand over his, and softly caresses the skin above it, wishing to see his lively green eyes once again.

"Come home to us, Finnick." She whispers.

* * *

He can't forget the sewers. It keeps bringing him back to it when he dreams. In between horrible screams of pleasure and blood curled wails, he could hear someone from above crying softly. The kind that's mixed with happiness and sadness altogether, that pangs him somewhere deep inside.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel and he runs towards it hoping for a sense of relief but when he does, he's surrounded by a thousand bodies, women and children and soldiers stepping on blood lit pavements and moans of pain. He's seen enough dead children and blood in his games so how would this make it any different?

He trudges on the path, in an urgent manner trying to ignore the moaning bodies and wails of pain when he sees her. A young woman with flowing dark hair crying out his name in pain. She's wearing a familiar green dress torn and frayed and he could see blood flowing down her legs and she's clutching her stomach, screaming in a hysterical voice, "FINNICK!" she breathes out in between her pain, tears flowing down her cheeks and she looks at him with horrified green eyes, " FINNICK! HE'S DYING!"

"He's dying!"

He hears the drops of morphling falling down his veins and soothing his fears. And it's the same voice screaming out earlier in his dreams but this time it's soft spoken and comforting.

He opens his eyes to a dimly lit room and lets out a breathe of relief when he feels her soft lips on his forehead and her smooth hands stroking his cheek and whispering dismantled words of "Home" and "our baby" keeps him calm.

"Home," he mouths silently as he takes in the sight of her dismantled wife. Her tired but smiling eyes and full lips and widening cheeks all relieve him from the ones screaming out in pain in the back of his head.

"Home," she repeats. And she could not help the emotions running through her, as she bends down and give him a lingering kiss after such ordeals they were put into. He is here. He is home. And that is all that matters.

She sleeps besides him at night when the drugs make him numb and unresponsive to the monsters creeping out from the corner. And even though he doesn't ask, she holds his hand, firmly interlocking her fingers with his, worry spreading through his skin.

Johanna visits him sometimes while Annie takes to her personal errands and lets him know of what had happened after the explosion in the sewer (to which he miraculously survives), the parachutes exploding, the death of Katniss' sister along with the other rebels and citizens caught in it, the assassination of President Coin, Snow's trampled death, the new president and the trial of Katniss Everdeen.

Everything would be alright.

She smirks in between his groans and playfully gives a tap on the back of his hand. As if saying, 'I'm really glad you're back with us'.

He gives a faint smile at the gesture, tries to laugh at her snide remarks and tries to suppress the doubts filling him in.

In between the haziness of the facts told, the comfort of his wife's hand, and the reassurance that everything would be fine and hopeful once again, something struggled within him and the numbness and emptiness he feels made him sure he was far from alright.

* * *

He jolts up in his bed in cold sweat, fear spouting out of his system only to be replaced by relief. He breathes deeply taking in the last moments of his dreams tonight, burying his face in his hands. Human lizards were chasing him in the tunnel and hearing Annie screaming in pain. The never ending tunnel with her screams echoing in the back of his mind.

He opens his eyes again, taking in breaths at normal pace, and suppressing a sob. They'll never stop chasing him and the tunnel only seems to grow longer and darker with every step he takes.

He felt like he was going to be stuck in that tunnel, forever running with Annie's screams as his company. He lets out a breath as he shakes his head out of the thoughts and thinks of the good things he is presented with.

He is home. He is safe. Annie is safe. They're having a baby. Snow can never harm anyone he cares about ever again.

He slides out of the bed, careful not to wake Annie who seemed unperturbed with his nightmares. She can usually sense it when he gets nightmares. He's glad she doesn't tonight because it pains him to see her worried about him too much.

He looks at her sleeping form for a moment, the bright moonlight illuminating her pale form and her long brown hair. Her arms tucked under the pillow, and the steady rise and fall of her chest makes him wish things weren't this hard. Her lips are slightly open and seem to whisper his name in her dreams.

He proceeds to the bathroom, closing the door lightly so as not to disturbed her. He turns the light on, and looks at the mirror, reflecting his image. The scars are fading from where he'd been at, and the wounds that the lizards had marked his skin with are healing but the memories of that dark sewer with its stench of roses and blood remain.

He opens the faucet and starts washing his face, the cool water refreshing his skin and making him aware of the waking world. His hands take a hold of both sides of the sink as he takes in the cool air.

He needs to forget.

He remembers what the doctors told him in the capitol, to regain strength, to live a normal life and be happy.

'Be happy.' He mouths at himself, looking at his reflection, hoping to see the emotion relay as he had muttered.

He couldn't. It dangles out of his reach and when he tries to make an effort, something pulls him backwards.

He slips back into bed, and pull his wife closer to him, hoping that maybe she can give him a reason to be.

* * *

Worry never seems to leave her when it concerns Finnick. It buries itself inside and when triggered, she disappears into a makeshift reality and cries for him.

She had thought that once Snow was dead, once the Hunger Games had perished and the war finished, he could come home and that everything would be better than before.

She thought freedom would be in their hands once the chains were broken. But as the days and weeks passed by, she couldn't feel anything from him but fear and misery and emptiness in his dim green eyes.

She ached for his touch, and on the nights he'd wake from terrible nightmares, she gives him the comfort of hers, wipes his tears, kisses his cheek and pulls back his damp hair and tells him to breathe. She wasn't new to these types of nights as they often happened when he'd come home from the Capitol. These were the nights when she'd take over his role and bring him back home.

Such moments where she felt him straining for it, his lips asking questions through his kisses and firm touches on her skin and she doesn't give any answers to such, but merely lets him ask, hoping the answer will come soon in light of their love making. She can feel him grasping what he can reach and sometimes when she holds him in the aftermath, she can see himself emerge from his own chained misery in soft touches and his green eyes would be clear and hopeful again.

Though the comfort of their intimacy doesn't always pull him out of the slurry water as much as she tries for it to be. Some nights when he's at his worst, he wouldn't be as gentle as he was to be. Sometimes he leaves light bruises, even when she'd say it was alright, his apologies are coupled with self-loathing and misery staining the mood. The green of his eyes dimming with specks of fear and anger and he'd put off his distance and punish himself for it.

Though she can sympathize with the nightmares, she could not pull him out of it. Her husband who would spend days weaving lovely words in tuned melodies and sing them to her and bring her back. Yet could not do the same for him this time.

It is a pain to lend a hand to someone who hesitates in taking it.

Nevertheless she lends it anyway, out of love, out of sympathy and hope that the child she is carrying will pull him out of the darkness the war had claimed him.

It hurts her to see him fighting such battle.

The war had ended but some days she thinks it leaves an aftermath you could be fighting in for worse.

* * *

Sometimes in the aftermath of the storm, he runs. It's a prodigious act in the middle of the night to leave the comforts of their bedroom and submerge into the empty streets of Four, feeling the salty cold wind push into his lungs and divert the darkness through dimly lit pavements and forlorn waves.

He takes in the quiet night and after assuring himself that he is alone in his solemn thoughts, he screams.

He screams out the anger, frustration and sadness piling up and choking him and it feels good.

Frustration for the continuous plagued days that keeps him home from his wife. Anger at himself for surviving and leaving more burden. Sadness because he wants it to end but he couldn't—not without breaking Annie's heart. He couldn't.

It anchors him to the ground and clings at his heart and buries him. He falls down on the warm wet sand wishing for the worst to come.

By 3'o clock in the morning she sets the warm cup of chocolate cocoa and waits patiently near the hallway. Worry courses through her veins as she sips her own cup, one hand to her protruding bully and another at the porcelain handle.

A soft rumble of thunder plays through the quiet morning and the worry never ceases.

She is used to these kinds of nights as the months wore on and her belly grew enough for them to cease their physical intimacy so he takes on running instead. But tonight seems to be an exception.

She takes a peek at the window near the door and sees an immense amount of heavy rain about to fall off the sky and she prays, 'please let my Finnick come home safe and sound'. She mouths these words and caresses the skin over her stomach, trying to ease herself and the growing baby.

Minutes tick, hour's runs, the cup of cocoa turns cold, the rain falls down hard on the windows and by the time he does come home, he's soaked and shivering and his eyes yearn for her.

No words are said as she leads him to the bedroom and helps him out of his soaked clothes. She takes out warm fluffy towels from the closet and dries his hair, and it warms his heart. He closes his eyes and puts his hands to her tummy, thinking of home and how good it felt to be in it.

When he opens them again, he see her green eyes filled with worry and he knows he should do something about it but before he could she pulls him in her arms and runs her fingers through his damp hair and whispers, "I'm glad you came home,"

The words sting him, he is home isn't he? Far from the sewers, far from the waters and the bloody footsteps, he is home. Annie is his home.

He tells this to himself. I am home. I am safe.

He holds on tighter and kisses her shoulder blades and her neck and jaw. He kisses her over and over again and in between she could feel the words he couldn't say. He smells like rain and his heated kisses ease her worries taking over moments before.

He kisses her on the lips and his hands grip on her waist firmly keeping himself grounded to where he is now. The rain falls down in softly outside and she smells like warm cups of cocoa and strawberries in the field, he memorizes each scent, each taste and the feel of her skin underneath his palms. An amused chuckle befalls him when she shivers underneath his touches, though when he slips a hand underneath her night gown, she stops his actions and he sees her eyes reflecting fear,

"Finnick," she says hesitantly,

He remembers why and succumbs in a sheepish smile, and place a hand on her belly instead.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, looking at her before placing a soft gentle kiss on her lips. He bends down and kisses her belly too and she could feel the warmth spreading all over her. He looks up at her and the clear green of his eyes reflect so much love and she misses him so much.

She pulls him back up to her and kisses him again ardently, her arms wrapping around his neck bringing him to her as close as possible. He can feel himself slipping away but she pulls him back with each stroke of her tongue against his and when she pulls back from him breathless, he hears her say, "please be careful," and he relents on it as she pulls off the thin fabric covering her.

"I promise," he whispers back and he holds her, skin on skin, soft and heated kisses, it's the only promise he keeps at the moment.

* * *

When he comes out of the bathroom, he finds Annie in bed, reading a small blue book and a soft smile on her face. She's tied her hair back, though he could see a few strands falling down her shoulder. Her stomach's grown a lot bigger and he finds it utterly adorable when she places a hand on top it.

She looks up from what she's reading and greets him, "Hey,"

"Hi," he replies back. He's walking over to the dresser and pulling out warm pajamas when Annie tells him, "Johanna's package came in the mail today,"

"Package?" he asks as he's putting the pajamas on.

He can hear her hum in agreement.

"It's nice. It's a book of baby names and meanings."

The thought of Johanna buying a book about baby names and sending it over to them sounds peculiar. He knows she never does anything without a deep reason and years of experience has taught him that everything Johanna does, if not done for herself is more likely done for him.

"Baby names eh?" he asks, perturbed at such book. He slides over next to her and puts an arm around her waist, stroking the skin covering the small life inside it.

The thought of what he was about to be instills a kind of fear that's oddly comforting yet frightening all at the same time.

Had Snow won or had Coin maintained power, he'd fear more for Annie and the child she's carrying. He couldn't bear the thought of living with the thought of his children sharing the same fate as they had.

The image of tiny boy bearing Anne's eyes screaming in pain freezes his thoughts and makes his knuckles go white.

Annie senses the sudden rigidity he's trying not to show, and places a hand over his, massaging his firm fingers with her own, trying to let the blood flow back and ease his worries.

"Finn?" she asks carefully, and it's like her words pull him back and his green eyes find hers again and for some reason, he feels ashamed for thinking such horrible thoughts.

"So what do you think we should name him?" he asks all of a sudden.

Ever since Dr. Everdeen told them it was a boy, Annie felt like the baby was becoming more real, and the thought of being a mother excited and scared her all at the same time. Every night in her dreams she sees a tiny boy running towards the ocean, his small legs pushing him enough to trip and fall down the warm sand, his hair getting covered with bits of sand and when worry takes over her, he pushes himself off and when he looks back at her, she can see Finnick. He's a miniature Finnick, all green eyes and nose and dimples and she feels her heart squeeze a bit and a strong wave of love flows through her body.

She looks up at him and she can see Finnick in this baby and it's too much happiness all at once, and when he notices, he asks,

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

She smiles and shakes her head, before saying, "I dream about him at night,"

"Oh." He looks away uncomfortably and suddenly she thinks maybe he's not as happy as she is with this. Is he not happy? Or is he as nervous as she is?

She's more likely to think of the latter but when he looks back at her, she's starting to doubt that thought, herself.

"I'm sorry." He says after an unbearable amount of silence. He kisses her hair and wraps an arm around her and pulls her to him. He knows she probably doubts his love for this baby but it isn't true because anything they make together is beautiful in its own. And he knows that it's been taking a while for him to come home and maybe one day if he doesn't, he has something for her to leave behind.

"I just don't want him to be like me," he says, his voice muffled by her hair. And when she pulls back to look at him, she can see the sadness in his eyes and how could he think such thoughts.

"No, won't," she agrees and he feels the words sting him like sea salt on the wound but her next words mends it,

"He's going to be all the best of us together," she finishes.

And it was enough to say the least.

* * *

Ronan Earvin Odair.

He lets it ring through his head time to time every time he hears Annie gasp in pain. And when the sound of a loud cry jolts him out of his thoughts, he feels the sudden nervousness clinging into him months ago.

It was Annie who thought of the name upon crossing a book about seals. It was silly to think of naming their child after seals but when he hears the old man on deck reminiscing of the days of selkies, the ones who had broken free from their human oppressors, he thinks it's nothing he could ask more.

The baby is crying softly, as Dr. Everdeen lowers the blue bundle in her arms. He watches her face graced with a different kind of consuming happiness that tugs at his shadowed heart. The soft smile decorating her lips, her cheeks flushed with the overwhelming emotion of such kind and her green eyes filled with delight and marvel at the small bundle of joy in her arms.

She traces a finger in his head and adjusts the blanket by what he presumed as his tiny feet and laughs softly at whatever the baby is doing, he could hear him straining and his tiny hands reaching up from the blue blanket he's wrapped in. Annie shifts her gaze from him and back to the cradled infant and coos at him, whispers soothing words – words he also want to say but could not voice out. He hasn't seen him yet, he's scared this self-loathing will sink into them.

He's scared the darkness will take them both. And they don't deserve that.

He peeks through the opened door and sees her face lighting up with joy.

There is an urge of longing lingering in his body, the kind that makes him want to run and share the happiness consuming her. But the memories of screaming children and mutts and blood soaked pavements keep pulling him back, so he stays there, sea green eyes lingering in the view of his new family.

She can sense his presence through the doorway as she lets her gaze shift temporarily from her son to him. His face creased with hesitancy and nervousness. She longs for him to hold their child, longs for his arms wrapped around her and the baby- Their baby, who has inherited his looks and waits for the man responsible for them.

"Would you like to see him?" she asks out softly to him.

He startles out of his thoughts and he stammers at his supposed to be words, his hand reach out behind his head and scratch at his neck, not knowing what exactly he should do or say.

She smiles at his actions, finding his nervousness adorable and heartwarming all the same. Sometimes all he needs is a little push to say the right things.

She adjusts her position and shifts herself to give enough space for him, waits for him to accept her request as she bites her lower lip, hoping he would come.

His curiosity outweighs his reluctant thoughts and before he could figure out the answer he wanted to find, he finds himself walking inside their bedroom, and stands beside her. She doesn't leave her gaze on him, her heart pounding with hope and coupled happiness.

The baby has ceased to crying now and opens his eyes at them. Annie wipes his tears with her thumb, memorizing the feeling of his soft skin as he curiously looks over his parents. His soft gray eyes and half open mouth bring about a giggle from his mother while his father stands there mesmerized by such smallness and wonder.

A patch of dark hair covers his small head and the blue blanket covering him shifts out a bit showing his tiny feet as he tries to move a bit, Finnick can see that he's got some of his nose and his structure but the baby crinkles his nose a bit and he can see Annie in him just for a moment.

"Hello Ronan," she coos at him.

Ronan keeps his eyes on Annie though, and he can feel the love emitting from her, strong enough to draw him close. And when his gray eyes find his green ones, he feels like his heart is compressed too tight in his chest, and it's seeping into his eyes when their baby gives a toothless smile and his tiny hands reach out to him.

"I think he wants you to hold him," she says, giggling at the baby in her arms.

She looks at him and when his eyes meet hers, he can see hers tearing up with too much emotion and he complies.

He feels so small and fragile in his arms, and he's scared that he might drop him or damage him in a way. But whatever fear he feels, it doesn't seem to affect the tiny baby he's holding. There is trust in his eyes and it weighs him down. Annie wraps her arms around his waist, kisses his cheek and lays her head on his shoulder, watching their baby, and she can feel the happiness consuming them.

"Everything alright?" she asks him.

He looks back at her and the warm green of her eyes keeps him steady, the baby shifts in his arms and his heart had never felt more swollen than it is.

"Almost." He answers and he gives her a chaste kiss on the lips.

* * *

Finnick watches the rise and fall of the infant's chest.

He sits on the bed besides the bassinet and puts both his hands under his mouth. He notices the infant's tiny mouth opens a bit and the way his small hands clamp in and out. A small smile leaks out at him at the action and before he knows it, he stretches out his hand and touches his tiny fingers. He's surprised by the smoothness and warmth such can give and when his tiny fingers close around his, a smile spreads on the infant's sleeping face as if he was waiting for him all along. There's a huge swelling in his heart and he feels like bursting out.

In the darkness of the room, he feels the familiarity of comfort and for a moment there isn't anything at all that can pull him back from this.

He leans over the bassinet, and kisses the soft patch of dark hair.

"You'll be fine Ronan," he whispers.

Annie surprises him from behind by wrapping her arms around his waist and placing her chin above his shoulder. She peers at the sleeping baby with such fondness; she thinks it's never going to end.

"He'll be fine Finnick," she reassures, kissing him lightly on the cheek. He shifts his place and turns so she can face him properly and when he opens her arms to welcome her, Annie feels like he's come home. The beating of his heart echoes in her ears and there must be nothing more joyous than to hear it alive and well more than ever so.

When she looks up at his shining green eyes, she knows it has slowly passed. The monsters, the sirens that called him away from her. Her storm swept sailor who has been washed up on the shore, home in her arms.

He kisses her like how he had kissed her when she first came back to him and it dawns at him that life's ways of parting them pulls them back together like sewing back torn clothing. This is his wife, waiting, always waiting for him to come back from the Capitol, from the war, from the dark seas and this is all he's ever wanted, and this is all he could give; a beautiful child and a love long enough to bind them back together.

"Come home to us, Finnick," she murmurs feeling the exhaustion take over her body. He holds her though, he always does.

"I am home now," he answers and he has been now.

The soft body of his wife in his arms and the sleeping child besides them is clearer now and the future suddenly seems possible and he could feel the familiarity of the home he has lived in all of a sudden and the thoughts form a single line.

He will be fine.

* * *

_"The more she spoke, the more a deep desire for tears_  
_welled up inside his breast – he wept as he held the wife_  
_he loved, the soul of loyalty, in his arms at last._

_Joy, warm as the joy that shipwrecked sailors feel_  
_when they catch sight of land – Poseidon has struck_  
_their well-rigged ship on the open sea with gale winds,_  
_and crushing walls of waves, and only a few escape, swimming,_  
_struggling out of the frothing surf to reach the shore,_  
_their bodies crusted with salt, but buoyed up with joy_  
_as they plant their feet on solid ground again,_  
_spared a deadly fate._

_So joyous now to her_  
_the sight of her husband vivid in her gaze,_  
_that her white arms, embracing his neck,_  
_would never for a moment let him go . . ._  
_Dawn with her rose-red fingers might have shone_  
_upon their tears,, if with her glinting eyes_  
_Athena had not thought of one more thing."_

_Homer, The Odyssey_


End file.
